


Reaching God Tier

by SomeoneIMayOrMayNotBe



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Asphyxiation, Bloodplay, Choking, Cloaca, Fantasizing, First Time, Horny Teenagers, Knifeplay, M/M, Masturbation, Multi, Murder Kink, Oral Sex, Other, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sexual Frustration, Smut, Stridercest - Freeform, Time Shenanigans, Xeno, selfcest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-31
Updated: 2016-08-31
Packaged: 2018-08-12 01:24:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7914937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomeoneIMayOrMayNotBe/pseuds/SomeoneIMayOrMayNotBe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the story of how Dave would have reached god tier, if Andrew Hussie was a huge perv like me.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reaching God Tier

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Erotic asphyxiation is really, really dangerous. Accidental death is only one of the possible consequences. If you're tempted to try it out, please inform yourself first. Fortunately for you and me, it is perfectly safe to read, write and fantasize about, so with that said: enjoy!

The stone is cold under your back. The surface is hard, uneven and uncomfortable as fuck. You're pretty sure the troll name for quest bed is "granite torture platform". If this is a bed, you're a fucking smuppet. Your name is Dave Plushbottom, rising star of children's nightmares throughout paradox space. Special talent: collecting bruises without even moving.

You should have captchalogued some pillows. Or even some smuppets, come to think of it. Disturbing as they are, they'd still be comfier to sleep on than a giant rock. Those special god-tier powers better be worth it. You're starting to get the nastiest headache.

Maybe gods just don't get made on nice beds with fluffy pillows. Roughing it must be part of the deal. But then, apparently the first thing you receive as a god is a set of flannel pajamas, so how do you explain that one? 

Maybe once all of you reach god tier, you'll have one big sleepover party. Alchemize some popcorn. Paint each other's nails. That's _if_ you can reach god tier at all, which, frankly, is looking less likely by the second. 

The goal sounds simple enough to achieve in theory – lie on the stone, off yourself, respawn as a time deity. Nothing a cool motherfucker like you shouldn't be able to handle. You've already got the lying down part under control (sort of - there's no rule saying you can't fidget.) Would it be so hard to take it a step further? It's not like you don't have the means. You could hara-kiri this shit. You could slice your own head clean off. Your sword might not even break halfway through it, if you're lucky.

You don't have the guts to actually do it. The truth is that you, Dave Strider, are a pussy. You're the fluffiest little kitten to ever grace Youtube with its cuddly antics. You put Surprised Kitty and that Maru asshole to shame.

You can't kill yourself, but you do get a kind of thrill out of imagining it. Specifically, the kind that sends blood traveling south.

It's not that pain and gore particularly turn you on. It's the nothingness, the fear of the abyss. The way it tempts and revulses you all at once. Death is the complete loss of control. The ultimate failure. It's final. It's irreversible.

Okay, maybe not so irreversible, as the game has proven time and time again. _Hopefully_ not irreversible in this particular instance. As long as you're on your quest bed, you're in no real danger. Best case scenario, you manage to deal yourself a quick fatal blow and wake up a moment later with a spiffy new outfit and sweet superpowers. Worst case, you mess up and have to suffer for a while. Big deal - it's not like you've never gotten hurt before. Either way, this death won't be permanent.

Unless you tumble off of the platform as you die or something. Heh.

Maybe you're overthinking it. You don't necessarily need to commit suicide. John didn't, and things worked out for him, didn't they? Maybe just waiting here will be enough. Any minute now, Jack could use his omnipotent dog powers to teleport right here and shoot you in the face with Jade's rifle. _Again._

Fucking undodgeable space-bending bullets. See, this is why you need to make god tier, dammit.

It doesn't even need to be Jack. Any other psycho would do. Could be Vriska shenanigans. The spiderbitch could convince John to use his windy powers on you - create a hurricane, maybe. Accidentally stab you through the chest with debris. Probably the broken pieces of your own shitty swords, which litter the entire planet's surface at this point. 

You bet Terezi would lick a hole through her monitor, trying to get every drop of your delicious candy blood. 

Maybe it won't be an accident at all. Maybe the Heir of Breath will choose to aid your ascension by willing the air away from you until you choke to death. You don't want to think about why that turns you on.

You think of John grasping your throat and squeezing. You think of your life slowly slipping away in his grip, your blood soaking his blue PJs as he carves a final goodbye into your chest with the pointy end of his ridiculous hammer.

Goddamn, something is seriously wrong with you. It doesn't help that your brain is very good at conjuring visuals. You're so hard, you'd be drilling a hole in this stupid rock platform if you weren't lying on your back and too achy to turn around.

If you're just gonna just lie there and fantasize while you wait for death, you might as well use the opportunity to jerk off. You haven't had a lot of downtime or privacy since this whole game started. Maybe you can actually get some endorphins to kick in, so that whatever ends up killing you can do it in your sleep.

Getting undressed gives you a little rush. This is a technically public place, even though this monument was built for your particular dying purposes, on a planet designed especially for you, and there's nobody around, human or otherwise. You take everything off, even the shades - an occurance so rare the nakkodiles have built an entire folklore around it. If one of them caught you beating off out here, you're pretty sure stories would be told about it for generations.

Lying down naked on the slab of stone makes it much easier to believe that you're about to get sacrificed. Hopefully soon, before you get a full body sunburn. At least you can use the bundle of clothes to cushion your head a little. This fucking rock isn't getting any more comfortable.

With your fingers curled around your dick, you wonder if any trolls are currently watching through their time-browsing peeping tom app. Probably not, though. They would have pestered you already. Those fuckers just can't keep the commentary off.

It's so quiet out here. The only thing you hear is the wind, which feels nice and cool against your bare skin. You close your eyes and think of all the ways you might die as your hand gets to work. Suicide has this nice transgression feel to it, but it's so much hotter when you visualize someone else doing the killing. Like Jade pressing her gun into your mouth and pulling the trigger. Or John flying you up and dropping you into lava. Or Rose plunging her needles into your chest and _twisting._

You're so engrossed into your fantasy that don't notice the other's presence until the cool metal of a sword against your throat nearly makes you jump out of your skin.

You're suddenly face to face with yourself. The other Dave is straddling your chest and leaning over you, mocking smirk stretching into something predatory. 

You feel a moment of panic, blindly groping around for your shades so you can put some kind of barrier between yourself and this guy who just fucking appeared out of nowhere, but then he uses his free hand to push the sword against your windpipe - not too hard, not nearly hard enough - and you freeze on the spot.

This. You want more of this. You wish he'd give you more pressure, tilt the sword just a bit so you could feel the edge... You just can't bring yourself to voice the request. You have no way of knowing if his fantasies run as dark as yours. You've met a lot of Daves - not all of them are the same. Different timelines take you in different directions. Experience molds you into different people. You don't think you'd have the guts to jump another Dave like he's doing to you, just like he's probably never jerked it to thoughts of his friends killing him. You're all fucked up in your own, unique ways.

“Keep going,” he orders in your voice, and the harsh tone makes you shiver from head to toes. 

Your hand ventures back down to resume its illicit activities. It feels so awkward to do this with someone watching up close, even if that someone is basically your clone. You can feel your cheeks flaming and you close your eyes to recreate some semblance of protective barrier. You focus your mind on the alpha timeline, confirming that you're still firmly tangled in it. Future Daves popping around tend to mean someone's doomed, and that someone tends to wear your name. It won't be you this time, though. The other Dave may be calling the shots at present, but you're still the one who matters, for however long Skaia decides to give a fuck.

He grips your chin roughly to force you to look at him. His red eyes are so close to yours, and you know he can read the emotion in them. You've never felt more exposed than you do right now. It feels like he can see right through you, like he can tell that you're the messed up Dave, that there's a crack in you, a fault, and he wants to be the one to stick his fingers in it and watch the edges crumble. See how deep it can go. 

No. No, that's just your horniness talking, it's just paranoia. You're only feeling vulnerable because he's on top of you and he's dressed and you're not and his sword is still on your throat and he's watching you to jerk off while your eyes are exposed, that's all.

“If you stop I'll slit your throat.” 

His hand returns to the blade and he pushes it harder against your windpipe, enough to make you dizzy for one blessed instant before the pressure is gone and you gasp, bewildered.

He knew what you wanted. He knows what's in your mind. He - 

_Holy shit he's floating._

Your eyes go wide and your jaw drops. You've met plenty of Daves before, but none who defy the laws of gravity. Oh fuck he's god tier, he's got the pajamas, he's got a fucking _cape_ to go along with them. What if he's from _your_ future? Oh fuck, fuck you are about to die, he's going to kill you, that's what his eyes are saying right now. That's what he _literally just said._

It's not difficult at all for your hand to find that sweet rhythm again, and your future murderer shows his approval by pressing his own erection into your thigh. He keeps his face mere inches from yours, hypnotizing you with those red irises that almost seem to glow. He's able to stay perfectly expressionless while you're just a transparent mess: your heart is pounding, you're sweating and getting goosebumps at the same time, your brain is spinning and coming up empty. 

Your Adam's apple moves under the sword as you attempt to swallow. Your mouth tastes like metal from the adrenaline and you pretend it's blood, because you're a fucked up pervert and you're so drunk on this kink he's letting you indulge.

“That's it. You look hot as fuck like this.” 

You can't help but whine as he captchalogues the sword, but you then reason that if he needs both hands for what he's going to do next, it can only be good. You hope he's going to strangle you, that would be insanely hot, _what the fuck is wrong with you,_ you're scaring yourself! You hope he's as fucked up as you are. You hope he's _worse._

He surprises you by grabbing both sides of your head and kissing you roughly. It's so weird to feel your own lips, your own tongue moving against you, so sexy and forbidden and _wrong,_ you can't help the needy little noises that escape your throat. You're still a dumb virgin, and you hope he's from far enough in the future that he knows exactly what to do, because otherwise you might just die of frustration, and that would be the worst way to reach god tier _ever._

He chuckles as if he'd read your mind and answers your prayers by squeezing your throat with both hands. Blood rushes to your head and it feels fucking _amazing,_ and you're so hard you're pretty sure your dick is about to literally explode, in the messiest sense of the term. You bet _this_ is how you die: genital explosion. It will earn you the last of the Darwin awards.

He lets go and you moan, your hips buck up as he grinds against your leg, muttering that you're such a pervert, you're both such filthy incestuous perverts, Rose would have a field day with this, you're fucked up and this feels so good and she motherfucking _called it_... You let go of your dick to pull him towards you so you can shut him up with your mouth. He laughs and pushes away from you just to be a dick, floating like a balloon that's about to fly off, so you grab fistfuls of the red cloth and _pull._ You need him closer, you don't know _what_ you need from him but you need it _right fucking now,_ dammit!

You almost growl, and he grins against your lips. “When you come, I'll stab you in the heart.”

You don't know if you've just turned to ice or been set on fire. Why, _why_ is fear such a turn on?! Oh god what if he really does it, fuck, you're so fucking _warped –_

You buck against him and whimper. You're so, so close, you just need to touch yourself a little and – and he's grabbing your hand to still it, the asshole! Curse him, curse him like a gypsy's hot cock-teasing step-mom!

He smiles like a shark. “You know how you always wished you could suck your own dick?”

Your eyes nearly pop out of your skull. 

You will yourself to take deep breaths as he settles between your legs. You need to calm down or your first blow job will be over before it even starts. How did you rake up the karma points for this? All you've done since the game started is half-ass quests and fuck with your planet's economy.

Your thoughts are relegated to oblivion when wetness and warmth settle around you. There are not enough mantras to keep you calm for this. You think you may have actually been made for his mouth, you never want to pull out of there again, but then he actually starts to move and suck and _fuck you weren't prepared for how this feels you're gonna come in like three seconds -_

You tap him on the arm in warning, but all it does is make him suck harder and speed up until you spill yourself on his tongue after an embarrassingly short amount of the element you're supposed to control. He swallows, of course – he's motherfucking Dave Strider, he owes it to the brand, you might as well pack your shit and give him the alpha timeline cause he's still got his pokerface on and you're just a sprawling hot mess. Then he crawls back on top of you and sticks his tongue back in your mouth. You suck on it greedily, eager to make him feel even a fraction of what you just experienced.

The rest happens really fast. He's about to say something when you feel him tensing against you. There is a crunching noise and a terrible pain as metal pierces your chest. Your vision blurs. Then everything goes dark.

**Author's Note:**

> This will be a three part story, unless I get totally carried away ; )


End file.
